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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641191">that's mum and dad, and that's their boyfriend morse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/meme_manon/pseuds/meme_manon'>meme_manon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Endeavour (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen, Kidfic, M/M, That's it, a seven-kid fic actually, and hes like FORGOT? forgot to mention SEVEN CHILDREN? and a HUSBAND?, and ludo goes my friend ur red as the pomodoro must i kinkshame you now?, and she would be like oh yeah forgot to mention, but in a nice warm-hearted way ok i promise, but morse doesnt know that, continuing the tradition of morseverse B+ parenting, for thinking that my wife is a milf???, he thinks hes fucking shit up, i just think it would be funny as shit if morse found violetta again, im basically just combining scenes to get them all on a date together, just for fun, otherwise not much changes from s7, the LOOSEST definition of a casefic as in the case is a frame for the kidfic, this is CRACK this is NOT DEEp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:20:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/meme_manon/pseuds/meme_manon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'dad commits all possible forms of fraud and morse is a cop but they're both smitten with mum so it's all okay'</p><p>or </p><p>The tiled front garden around the bend was clearly built to impress, and he disliked it on principle - it was different with the colleges, they were mediaeval some of them, for crying out loud. But this? This just seemed… rude.<br/>Or surprisingly welcoming, actually. He turned to face the house again. Distant laughter drifted from a window.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Endeavour Morse/Ludo Talenti/Violetta Talenti, Endeavour Morse/Violetta Talenti, Ludo Talenti/Violetta Talenti</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. surprises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The green fields and hedges were searingly bright, and the noon sky blue and cloudless. The car made some worrying noise every five minutes or so. He was starting to doubt he’d even picked the right turn - but hey, there could only be so many places called Copse House in all of Oxfordshire with its dozens of copses and hundreds of houses.</p><p>Morse squeezed the wheel and squinted at the cheerful spring sun. It was shining right into his eye. With his luck though, any grumbling would hex it and the afternoon concert would be cancelled for rain in a matter of minutes. Better to just keep driving and hope not to go blind. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘So where are you headed this early, looking so smart?’ Dorothea Frazil had asked when they ran into each other in the morning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Running an enquiry, felt like dressing up a bit. You women do it, why can’t I?’ he’d quipped and received a dry smile in return. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Just don’t tell that one to the poor girl you’re taking out. Who are you trying to impress?’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘College people. Just hoping to keep my seat at a concert this afternoon.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Ah, of course.’ She’d smiled before giving his arm a parting pat. ‘Have fun, sergeant. I’m glad you’re finding some time for yourself and not bringing work home all the time! I’ll see you around.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Morse had just narrowed his eyes, but either Miss Frazil couldn’t read his ‘what makes you think I usually do that’ face too well, or she chose to ignore it, smiling and waving as she went. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘I’ll see you around.’  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Truly, he didn’t mind the country air or the sunny weather. He just didn’t particularly enjoy this particular type of visit. The buildings were often lovely, and the gardens, of course, but the people in those houses not so much. They were too detached from the world to give practical answers, and too attached to their image not to lie at all. People in town at least only lied because they were afraid of trouble, and he could sympathise with that.</p><p>At least the name was unusual so he couldn’t be too far off, sounded like a fashion manager or a television personality. (Or the owner of a very particular kind of shady club.)</p><p> </p><p>When the hedges and trees finally turned into a better-maintained, square and neat sort, Morse knew he was close. He took a deep breath. </p><p>For better or worse, visiting upper-class houses was fairly standard - people tended to appreciate themselves and despise everyone around them. That made for keen eyes and ears but tight lips. Art, however, was something buyers typically bought to flaunt it, so asking about an auction day shouldn’t have been a herculean task. </p><p> </p><p>A wider bend of the road had clearly been used as an improvised parking space quite recently, perhaps for surprise guests. The garden was surrounded by hedges, but beyond those he saw a handsome house looking down a gentle hill. He thought he saw a small stable or carriage shed (though it certainly wasn’t a <em> shed </em> by any definition, closed and matching the house in colour), but it may have been a garage nowadays. The walls were a warm white that seemed more Mediterranean than Cherwell. Not exactly a farmhouse, then, though it could’ve been one a long time ago.</p><p> </p><p>Morse made sure to make a bit of noise as he parked the car and shut the motor. He climbed out and shut the door, gazing back along the sunlit road. It was all a bit too nice and neat. The tiled front garden around the bend was clearly built to impress, and he disliked it on principle - it was different with the colleges, they were mediaeval some of them, for crying out loud. But this? This just seemed… rude. </p><p>Or surprisingly welcoming, actually. He turned to face the house again. Distant laughter drifted from a window. A few of them were open, calling him to the doorstep. </p><p>The entrance was tall and wide, but not imposing, and made wider still by a pair of generous cut-glass sidelights. </p><p> </p><p>Morse hit the knocker twice. He didn’t have to wait and peer through the windows for too long. Someone approached with a spring in their step, warm orange in the pale foyer. Morse stepped back to fish out his identification. </p><p>‘Well, who-’ The door opened and he caught a bright, bearded smile just before something rammed against his leg. ‘Sofia! No! What -’</p><p>The little girl darted out, delighted and bright-voiced. ‘<em> Un coltello! </em>’</p><p>‘NO!’</p><p>The moment was over in a flash, Morse blocking the dark-haired child’s run and the man hoisting her up by the armpits, wrestling the knife from her hands. The girl was laughing like anything, and soon her father joined in - no doubt about the relation, looking at the two of them. Her dress was a blur of bright colours and she looked like a wild rabbit, squirming in the scolding hold. He told her off with a warm smile on his face. </p><p>It was disarming, and Morse couldn’t help smiling. </p><p> </p><p>‘I am <em> so </em> terribly sorry about her, what an introduction! Sofia, <em> mia patatina </em>, what on earth are you doing?’</p><p>‘Oh, it’s quite all right.’ Morse shook his head and offered, ‘She seems lively.’</p><p>‘Yes, she is! But an angel most of the time, believe me,’ the father said and set the girl down, whispering to her to get back inside. Morse smiled and nodded to her. ‘We were just in the business of preparing lunch, you see, that’s the story of the knife. Nothing more sinister than that, I promise.’</p><p>‘Oh?’ Morse took in the unbuttoned collar and rolled sleeves, and the kind of dark stains on tight, trendy corduroy that one got from wiping wet hands on his thighs in a hurry. ‘Must be a bit of a challenge… I mean, with children.’ He couldn’t remember any such house call with this level of hands-on parenting. Literally. </p><p>The man rolled his eyes and smiled. ‘Oh yes, you wouldn’t believe. We have a nanny arriving later today but, please forgive me, I don’t trust her English cooking skills quite yet.’ </p><p>‘I see.’</p><p> </p><p>The man sobered up a bit. ‘Oh, how rude of me.’ He moved the knife away to shake hands, but a hint of a curious smile still made his eyes squint. His grip was gentle. ‘Ludo. And who might you be? I don’t think that I’ve met you recently.’</p><p>Morse straightened up as well, showing his ID card. He had to give a half-apologetic nod, too, for breaking the relaxed atmosphere. ‘Ludo… Talenti, by any chance? Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley Police.’</p><p>‘I am. Why, what’s this about?’ He looked intrigued. </p><p>‘I was actually hoping you might answer a few questions, Mr Talenti, if that’s all right. We’re looking into a few strange occurrences in town recently. If you have time? It won’t take long.’</p><p>The man eyed him up and down, reevaluating him. Morse wasn’t sure what he saw, or what he thought he saw. Then he smiled again and opened his door. </p><p>‘Why of course. Come on in, sergeant. I’ve got a few minutes to spare for the… boys in blue, right?’</p><p>Morse managed a tight smile in thanks and stepped over the threshold. Mr Talenti closed the door behind them and led him into the spacious foyer with a camraderial push.</p><p> </p><p>Sofia, clearly overcome with curiosity, was still peering at them from behind a corner. Two girls a bit older than her, maybe ten or so, had joined in, clearly sisters from the same sweet eyes and curious expression. One had long black pigtails and the other a dark brown bob to her jaw, held back by a green hairband.</p><p>‘Twins, where’s your brother?’ Mr Talenti asked with a sigh, and Morse widened his eyes at the floor. </p><p>‘I don’t know.’</p><p>‘Well, go find him.’ Talenti waved the knife dismissively. ‘I must talk with this man for a minute, Berto can help you.’ </p><p>Morse eyed the man again, unable to decide on a judgement of his relaxed posture, cheerful tone, and something a bit sharp in his expression behind the carefully trimmed beard.  <em> Four </em> children altogether? And a wealthy Oxonian father who just so felt like cooking lunch with them? He might as well have found another tiger roaming their garden.</p><p> </p><p>Rest of the negotiation flowed in rapid Italian, and for all his operatic memorising Morse couldn’t follow - of course he saw from how Talenti was pointing the knife towards the east corner of the house that he was talking about the mentioned brother and telling the girls to get out. But that was it.</p><p> </p><p>‘Roberto!’ He raised his voice a bit, but it stayed gentle. ‘Get your sisters away from here, to the garden!’</p><p>A boy replied something from another room.</p><p><em> ‘Subito!’ </em> Talenti called back, but spread his hands and sighed theatrically. He shook his head at Morse and pulled a face. ‘An adolescent. Agrees on nothing with me.’</p><p>Morse smiled in return but cleared his throat and pulled on his sleeve a bit to see his watch. ‘If this is a bad time, Mr Talenti-’</p><p>He shook his head and tutted, but the hint of a smirk went nowhere. ‘Ludo will do, please. That makes me sound so old and serious.’</p><p>‘Right.’ Morse ducked his head to hide a laugh. ‘I’ll gladly give you my card and we can agree on a meeting later. Just let me know when it suits your schedule.’ Whatever the nanny was for, clearly the Talentis had somewhere else to be for the evening.</p><p>Talenti - Ludo - grimaced and nodded, but took the offered card. ‘Why of course, you must be in a hurry. I didn’t even consider that.’</p><p>Morse shook his head. ‘No, no, I’m all right, but you’ve clearly got your hands full. It’s just a standard inquiry.’ </p><p>‘You’re too kind, sergeant.’ Ludo laughed to himself and clapped Morse on the shoulder. ‘But let me just show the children out and then we two may talk in private.’ It was a bit too cosy, but the bright, sunlit home and the whispering little girls made it hard to act detached. </p><p> </p><p>‘Okay, what?’</p><p>‘Berto, finally!’ A schoolboy meandered lazily in from the back of the house and gave them a bored look. He was maybe twelve, dressed down for the Friday afternoon in a striped polo, but still in his school slacks. Morse smiled and nodded politely. Too much fuss and the boy would’ve likely made his father’s day even harder. </p><p>‘Sergeant, this is our eldest. Roberto, please, say hello to Mr…’</p><p>‘Morse. Detective Sergeant Morse.’</p><p>‘Yes, indeed.’</p><p>‘Hello, Morse,’ the boy said before grabbing his youngest sister by the hand. ‘Remo’s missing from us.’ </p><p>‘What’s that supposed to mean? Where did you lose him?’ Ludo asked, and only got a shrug in reply. ‘Go find him, then!</p><p>All Morse had wanted was a quick comment on some auction visitors and the purchases done. Yet here he was, in the middle of a dizzyingly busy family gathering.</p><p>‘Is, uh, <em> Mrs </em>Talenti around?’ he found himself asking. </p><p> </p><p>She was, and she called down from the first floor landing, ‘Ludo, darling, what is all this noise?’ </p><p> </p><p>The children started to sneak off. The decorative railing squeaked when yet another little schoolgirl skipped downstairs to join her siblings. </p><p>Ludo spread his hands in greeting (knife and all) and gave a charmed smile. <em> ‘Mia cara, </em> there you are! We didn’t wake you up, no?’</p><p>The lady of the house was bouncing a sleepy-looking toddler on her hip, and brushed a familiar lock of black hair behind her own ear. ‘Just a little bit,’ she said. </p><p> </p><p>And it really was familiar. Morse stared at Violetta as she descended to the foyer in a midnight-purple silk blouse, and his mouth went dry.</p><p> </p><p>Violetta looked back, only with mildly uncomfortable surprise. ‘My dear, who’s this?’</p><p>‘This is Morse. Morse, this is Violetta, my wife.’</p><p>He swallowed down an<em> ‘I know.’ </em></p><p>‘Morse?’ she asked.</p><p>‘A policeman, darling, here to ask some questions. Have you seen Remo?’</p><p>‘A policeman?’ She sounded even more perplexed, but it was her. Morse knew the way her brows knit together and the way her smile quirked. He knew how it felt on his lips. ‘Remo’s playing in the garden. Really, I didn’t think a police uniform looked like that.’</p><p> </p><p>Morse, Violetta and Ludo all looked down at his tuxedo.</p><p> </p><p>‘I, uh… It doesn’t, I’m afraid.’ What a moronic reply. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. ‘I’m a detective sergeant, not in uniform.’</p><p>‘And what are you doing here?’</p><p>‘What I would like to know,’ Ludo said and tilted his head, ‘is where you might be headed, sergeant. He does brush up quite well, darling, don’t you think? For a policeman.’</p><p>‘Yes,’ she agreed, so calmly that it almost felt like an insult.</p><p>‘Not that it’s of any weight to why I’m here,’ Morse pointed out. Awfully nosy people - <em> Violetta </em> and her <em> husband </em> . And their… three, four and six and <em> seven </em> children.</p><p>‘No, of course. But humour us, please, sir.’ Ludo laughed and pulled Violetta closer under his arm, as if on cue, and they both gave him intrigued looks. Their youngest seemed to be staring at Morse's hair with a similar intensity, and suddenly he felt uncomfortably warm. Had he even combed his hair before leaving on this waste-of-time country tour?</p><p>‘Music.’ </p><p>‘Truly?’ </p><p>Morse cleared his throat and aimed for a polite smile. It felt like an awkward grimace. ‘A garden concert, at one of the college parks later today-’</p><p>Ludo’s whole face lit up in delighted surprise. He looked at his wife. ‘Did you hear that?’</p><p>‘I did.’ Violetta smiled.</p><p>‘A string ensemble? No, surely it can’t be!’ He looked at Morse again. ‘Is it? Which college?’</p><p>He nodded, unsure of the reason behind this new mood. ‘It’s B-’</p><p>‘Beaufort, yes! I’m so sorry, but…’ Ludo tilted his head. ‘Have we met?’</p><p> </p><p>Morse blinked. ‘Excuse me?’</p><p>Ludo pointed at him and narrowed his eyes. ‘My God, we have, haven’t we? In university?’</p><p>‘I- I’m not sure.’</p><p>‘Morse, you said? Of course! You were up in...’ Ludo snapped his fingers.</p><p>‘Lonsdale.’ Morse couldn’t remember. ‘It’s been too long,’ he offered.</p><p>‘Yes, Lonsdale! Too long indeed, pardon me! Morse, how could I not recognise you sooner. And you became a detective of all things! I was in Beaufort myself,’ Ludo said with an excited laugh and waved a hand. ‘In fact, I personally know some of the people responsible for today’s little gathering. We’re headed there as well. That’s what the fuss with the children has been all about, you see.’ </p><p>His grin was starting to puzzle Morse with its insistence to stay put without a slightest break.</p><p>‘I see.’</p><p> </p><p>Violetta smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed you enjoy music, Morse,’ she said warmly, but her look stayed cool. </p><p>‘Well, it’s a hobby, you know.’ Morse swallowed. An ugly impulse spat the words out before he knew what he was saying, ‘Something for when I want a moment away from my life, work and all that. A little break from the usual responsibilities.’</p><p>Violetta’s smile dropped for a heartbeat, but it returned smoothly, brighter than before. ‘I’m so sorry for my husband, he made me completely forget that you were here for a reason.’ </p><p>‘Oh, that,’ Ludo mused. Morse had forgotten it as well.</p><p>‘Ludo? Can you see to the children, Ludo?’ Violetta turned to her husband and handed their youngest to him, mindful of the vegetable knife. ‘Take Patrizia, I’ll show <em> Sergeant </em>Morse to the sitting room and offer him something to drink.’</p><p>‘Thats a marvellous idea, darling. Morse, follow along, she’ll show you the way! I will be there shortly and you can ask us anything that’s on top of your mind.’</p><p> </p><p>And with that he left, the girl under his arm, chattering away to her instead.</p><p>‘This way,’ Violetta said, and Morse didn’t get a chance to say no. He just trotted after her, deeper into the house and away from the sounds of the family.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>in birth order:<br/>roberto, 12<br/>felicità &amp; livia, 10<br/>sofia, 8<br/>armida, 6<br/>remo, 5<br/>and patrizia, 2</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. secrets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is just two narcissists talking endless bullshit and morse struggling to keep up cos he's got a crush on them both</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Noon sun didn’t yet reach the western flank of the property, so the quiet came with a pale sense of cool. Old pastoral country scenes and aggressively swirling modern pieces both peeked at him from the walls. Violetta’s homely clogs clacked softly against wood and carpet, until she slid open a deceptively heavy-looking door.</p><p>‘After you.’</p><p>Morse would’ve liked to argue on principle, but it didn’t seem clever in their current situation. ‘Thank you.’</p><p>She didn’t move an inch when he walked past, and kept her chin level. Only an unreadable glance from under long lashes and dark brows prodded him along.</p><p> </p><p>It was truly a wonder how far people were willing to go with flaunting their wealth sometimes. The flock of children had wiped the opulence from view for a minute. </p><p>Morse looked up from the massive persian rug to a nondescript, swaying sculpture on the opposite side of the room, next to a massive fish tank. The polished wooden floor was deceptive in its traditionality, because a few steps further it disappeared from under geometric designer seating and two steel-and-glass coffee tables. </p><p>He could never understand how houses like these were supposed to feel like home. </p><p>There were many things he didn’t understand. Morse looked over his shoulder to Violetta. She closed the doors and gestured towards the pit of endless sofas. </p><p>‘Go ahead and sit down, please. What would you like to drink?’</p><p>‘Whatever you like. I guess I’m easy,’ Morse said, not talking about drinks. He looked her in the eye, hoping for an answer. Violetta lifted an eyebrow, but shrugged and went on her merry way to the bar. Morse wandered next to the expensive-looking furniture to wait for her.</p><p> </p><p>‘What are you really doing here?’ Violetta asked when she handed him a glass. The drink smelled fairly strong and bittersweet, the same coppery red hue as the couches and the shirt Ludo wore.</p><p>‘My work,’ Morse said firmly. ‘I’ve reason to believe you or your husband might know something about a case.’</p><p>‘How did you <em> find </em> me?’ Her expression grew sharper. ‘Tell me, Morse.’ Even hushed, it was a demand.</p><p>‘I didn’t.’ He sipped the liquor and bit back a grimace at the musky sweetness. Violetta laid a tense hand on his arm.</p><p>‘If you’re here to ruin my-’</p><p>‘I wasn’t looking for you! I didn’t know.’ He said. Then, a bit of bitterness seeping through, ‘I didn’t know <em> anything </em> about you, nevermind that you’d be living here. With a family.’</p><p>She searched his face for a moment, wide eyes raking over his features. The grip on his sleeve tightened. He lifted his eyebrows and shook his head again.</p><p>‘It would’ve been nice to know, don’t get me wrong. Or get a goodbye, at least-’</p><p>‘No. It was better like this.’ She relaxed slightly, but kept her hand and stern, shining eyes on him. ‘You agreed when I said there would be no questions. Don’t start asking the wrong ones now.’</p><p>Wrong? Morse swallowed tightly. </p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t know where you’ve drawn the line with things like these.’ He could’ve lied and said there was an emergency, and sent Strange or some constable to ask more, but here he was, an idiot. He looked to the door. Ludo and the children in the kitchen. ‘Your husband seems… friendly.’</p><p>‘He does.’ Violetta’s lips twisted into a careful frown. ‘He always does. And I know you’re a kind and caring man -’</p><p>Morse scoffed. </p><p>‘You <em> are </em> -’</p><p>‘No, I’m not here to do any of that again! Not with a married woman.’</p><p>‘I’m not asking you to!’ Violetta hissed and grabbed his hand to stop the glass. ‘But you can’t tell him. You can’t tell him we spoke of this. It would break his heart.’ </p><p>She brought a hand firmly on his chest for good measure.</p><p>It surely broke his. He’d still been thinking about her, all spring, and her warm, soft hands that now gripped him so roughly.</p><p> </p><p>‘You haven’t told him? He doesn’t know?’</p><p>‘The children can’t know,’ she said.</p><p>He swallowed and dropped his eyes to the floor. ‘You should’ve thought about that last year.’ </p><p>Violetta gasped, but Morse shook his head and smiled tightly. </p><p>‘No, I’ll play along. Whatever.’ He emptied the rest of the glass and pushed it back in her hand. ‘As I said, I’m easy. I’ll take what’s served, and I won’t ask.’ </p><p>She seemed more disappointed than relieved. The touch lingered, her other hand still on his arm. The worst part was he knew she liked it - running her hands all over him, touching and exploring - and he knew how it felt. </p><p> </p><p>Quick steps in the hallway sent Morse to find a spot on the enclosed sofas, and Violetta returned to the bar to pour another glass.</p><p> </p><p>‘Finally here!’ Ludo called loudly through the door. </p><p>‘Finally,’ Violetta echoed as it slid open. Morse didn’t say anything, only bowed his face with the excuse of digging through his jacket for his notebook.</p><p>Ludo kissed his wife on the cheek and whispered something in her ear, and she gave him a drink with a lukewarm smile. Morse ran a hand over his mouth. </p><p>Did Ludo see it, the chilling way Violetta’s lips twitched? Would he sense something was wrong?</p><p>‘Yes, finally.’ He looked at Morse with a warm sort of encouraging interest. It almost made him feel like <em> he </em> was about to perform something for the afternoon. They slid onto the sofa a bit too close for comfort, but granted, to sit across the whole diameter of the seating area would’ve been more awkward.</p><p> </p><p>‘So, what was it that you needed our help on?’ Ludo asked gently. </p><p>Morse hesitated. He opened the notebook slowly and tried to get rid of distracting thoughts. Like the mock-serious pout on Violetta’s lips and the absent-minded hand she’d laid on Ludo’s knee.</p><p>‘I… I’ve reason to believe you may know something about an auction that was held three weeks ago at a late Mr… Kenneth Burden’s estate.’</p><p>‘Oh, yes,’ Ludo said and nodded. ‘We were there, on the lookout for artwork. What for are you asking us about it?’</p><p>‘A general interview of people found on the guest list. You were invited, correct? For what purpose were you there?’</p><p>Ludo’s smile was almost cheeky. ‘For buying art.’</p><p>‘We hadn’t seen a catalogue beforehand, but there was an invitation through the university’s Modern Sculpture Society. It’s a little group only, but we thought it was worth a visit,’ Violetta supplied, surprisingly the more helpful of them. ‘Someone in the club must have been ahead of themselves. It ended up being a disappointing trip.’ </p><p>‘Right.’ Morse gave her a look, but it didn’t affect her half as much as him so he dropped it to his notes. ‘Do you do that often? Tour art auctions, I mean?’</p><p>‘Yes, it’s a sizable part of the family business. I buy and sell art, among other things. I’ve always been fascinated by beauty, and she,’ he gave Violetta’s shoulder a little squeeze, ‘has an excellent taste for it. Art is a passion, I suppose, for us both.’</p><p>‘And the children?’</p><p>Ludo’s mouth twitched. ‘Well, certainly there’s been some sort of pass-’</p><p>‘The children were home that day,’ Violetta said and cut him off. ‘We do have some staff. On and off. The gardener, the grooms for the ponies, and the two cleaning girls are the most regular. They come at least every other day, most of the year.’</p><p> </p><p>The <em> grooms </em> for the <em> ponies</em>, plural. Sure. </p><p> </p><p>Morse looked up and frowned. ‘No cook, though? That was a surprisingly domestic scene for a family of… this size, if you don’t mind.’ He’d almost said <em> of your economical status</em>, his professionality walking a wobbly tightrope between Violetta’s warm brown eyes and her husband’s delighted smile. ‘Lovely children. If I didn’t say so already.’</p><p>‘I said that I don’t trust the college girl yet. Though she is the only one who’s agreed to come back a second time, is she not?’ Ludo gave his wife an amused look.</p><p>‘Mhm. She should earn some respect for that, love.’ </p><p>‘You must be right, I’m such a cruel soul,’ he agreed. </p><p>Violetta gave him an amused look Morse hadn’t seen before. Could’ve been proud, and it made his skin crawl, or maybe challenging, and he didn’t know about that either.</p><p>‘So, no cook?’ Morse asked again.</p><p>‘No. A few favourites now and then, but no one regularly. We always hire a cook for the events that go beyond family. I know what our children will eat, but no, I wouldn’t trust myself to keep guests so generous. I’m no chef.’ Ludo inclined his head humbly, crossed an ankle over his knee and leaned back - on his couch, next to his wife, in their lovely house. </p><p>Morse smiled tightly. ‘You must do something right.’</p><p>‘I fail to see how this concerns the auction,’ Violetta said.</p><p> </p><p>Morse cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. Hell, the tuxedo was the worst possible outfit for his situation. </p><p> </p><p>‘I, uh- I’m just trying to keep track of who might have been around. To receive the invitation? To see you off and greet you back, help with the… art?’ </p><p>‘Certainly not the tasks of a cook.’ Ludo laughed airily. </p><p>‘No, of course not.’ Morse still couldn’t remember him from college - though there were faces and names that were blurry, a lot of them. Perhaps he just hadn’t left as flashy of an impression back then. People changed - he had.</p><p> </p><p>‘Right. So when you were at the auction, the children were home with the staff who were here…?’</p><p>‘More or less. The girls must have been playing with the ponies, twins working on their schoolwork. We had Patrizia, our youngest, with us. Berto was visiting an English tutor in… um…’</p><p>‘St Clements, Ludo. He is a college graduate, a boy called… Vinton. What’s his first name?’ she asked. Ludo shrugged. ‘Son of one of Ludo’s connections, anyway.’ </p><p>‘You picked him up on your way home? At what time would that have been?’</p><p>Ludo inclined his head. ‘The auction lasted from roughly… four to seven, I think. So it might have been half past when we dropped by at the Vinton boy’s flat. Well, it’s a nice one, flat sounds bad…’ </p><p>‘And this <em> Vinton boy </em> could affirm the time?’</p><p>‘Certainly.’</p><p>Morse drew in a deep breath. ‘Thank you. How would you describe the auction day? The people and the auctioned items seemed as they should?’</p><p>‘Yes. Just boring. We only got a hideously faded, peacock-themed wall hanging that I paid too much for. What is it called? You know, Morse, a man of the arts yourself, <em> arrazzo</em>, <em> gobeline </em>?’</p><p>‘Tapestry.’</p><p>‘Ah, simple as that. Yes. But it will be easy to sell. Quite fashionable in interior planning nowadays, tapestries, would you believe.’ Dear god how much the man <em> talked</em>. That fit his memories of the colleges, at least.</p><p> </p><p>Morse tapped the pen on his chin for a moment. The recount of the events was as mundane as any other, but there was a strange detail he hadn’t yet heard on his previous three enquiries on the list.</p><p> </p><p>‘You didn’t find it odd that a modern art society would endorse an antiques auction?’</p><p>The Talentis looked at him like a pair of comically confused cats, eyes round and postures frozen.</p><p>‘Oh,’ Ludo said softly and narrowed his eyes.</p><p>Violetta pursed her lips and lowered her voice. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ </p><p>Morse bit his tongue, choking down a remark about the way his respect for his hosts’ intelligence just plummeted.</p><p> </p><p>‘Thank you. I think that’s more than enough of that for one day. Thank you for this - and for the drink. We can get back in touch if the case calls for it?’</p><p>‘Anything we can do to help,’ Ludo said.</p><p>‘Yes, well… if you think of anything suspicious, let me know. I’ll give you my card.’</p><p>‘Wait. What has the crime been at the auction?’ Ludo got up just as quickly as Morse tried to. ‘A real one, something bad? That sounds very worrying.’</p><p>Morse stopped him with what he hoped was a reassuring smile and a firm wave of his hand. ‘No, there’s no need to worry, Mr- Ludo, really.’</p><p>‘Are you sure?’ Violetta asked quietly. When Morse met her eyes, they were damp.</p><p>
  <em> Oh no.  </em>
</p><p>‘Everything is being taken care of, I promise you.’ Morse reassured her. He wanted to give her a firm hand to hold, but Ludo was hovering right by his shoulder. ‘We’ve an open case on some suspected fraud, perhaps, concerning some sold items. But a tapestry for interior decor? I doubt it. No one was in any physical danger.’ </p><p>No one but the hired auctioneer who had died three days later, but she didn‘t need to know that.</p><p>‘Thank heavens for that,’ Ludo said softly. ‘Are you all right, darling?’</p><p>Violetta nodded and sighed in relief. ‘Yes. Just… shaken.’</p><p>‘Of course, that was a complete shock.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m sorry,’ Morse said. ‘I should’ve broken it to you in a different way. I made it sound worse than it is. And I should have let you know I was coming beforehand-’</p><p>‘I’m not made of glass, Morse, just surprised. And now I’m better.’ She got up with the help of Ludo’s gracious hand and brushed a hand through her hair. ‘Besides, I should go get ready for the concerto.’ </p><p>‘Would you look at the time,’ Ludo mused, pulled Morse’s left wrist closer, and widened his eyes. ‘Indeed.’</p><p>Morse pulled his hand back, but in his surprise he ended up smiling anyway.</p><p>‘So should you, Ludo,’ Violetta said and gave him a judging look, nodding to Morse. ‘If you leave the house looking like that, <em> he will </em> outshine you.’</p><p>It made Ludo laugh long and hard. Morse didn’t know if he was supposed to join.</p><p> </p><p>‘If we’re done here?’ Ludo asked him. Violetta was already gone out of the door. </p><p>Morse nodded and prepared to make his excuses, but got cut off. </p><p>‘Excellent. Come upstairs with me, Morse, there’s a drawing room much more cosy than this big one. I’d love to catch up with you.’</p><p>He stared in stunned silence. Ludo motioned with his hand and smiled.</p><p>‘Come on!’ He laughed and opened the door for them. </p><p>‘I think I can wait down here.’ He walked up to Ludo anyway. To the man whose wife he had… </p><p>‘No, I’d be a terrible host, please. Come now.’ Like calling a dog to heel. ‘You can help me pick the shoes or jacket or something if you want to feel useful. I have a couple of dinner jackets to pick from.’</p><p> </p><p>Of course he did. The only polite option was to follow Ludo’s Cheshire grin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>they have 'only two' ponies fyi</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>so, don't believe a word he says. but he does speak quite a lot. however, what he didn't believe he'd have to tell morse was the story of birds and bees…</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ludo’s steps were sure and brisk. Keeping up with his pace, Morse was left with little time to gather his thoughts. A rather frazzled-looking female undergrad nodded politely but hastily when they passed her on their way upstairs - she held Patrizia clumsily in her arms and tried to usher the rest of the youngest children into a dining room. It was reminiscent of an overworked collie. </p><p>‘Come on, Morse,’ Ludo simply said in a cheerful tone, and kept him feeling like a heeler as well.</p><p> </p><p>His host did point out some directions - bedrooms and Violetta’s dressing room down the corridor, a <em> modest </em> library and study over there - but it was more bragging than helpful. Better to let it go right in through one ear and out the other. Morse couldn’t focus on words anyway.</p><p>He was about to spend the rest of the entire afternoon bouncing between the two of them like a pair of tennis rackets, wasn't he? Violetta hadn’t even disagreed with him staying, had said they should all go. She’d acted like nothing was amiss, smiling under Ludo’s arm with nothing in her eyes.</p><p>It wasn’t until Ludo opened the door to the drawing room with a wide smile, beckoning him in, that reality hit again.</p><p>He couldn’t just accept the invitation to sit down and catch up with Violetta’s husband. The father of her children. He couldn’t do that or he’d surely blurt out the truth.</p><p> </p><p>‘Actually,’ he said and returned Ludo’s smile, ‘I should probably… see if the car’s needed in town. It’s station property. Have you got a telephone? I think I saw one downstairs.’ </p><p>‘Oh dear, the local constabulary is so underfunded? All for one car?’ Ludo asked, looking rather politely worried.</p><p>Morse bit his tongue. ‘Well, they’re meant to be for working and not fun in the afternoon.’</p><p>Ludo’s reply came with an amused glance, ‘I didn’t think you were this dutiful, <em> Sergeant. </em> Why, we can give you a lift, of course, to the fun and back. We wouldn’t want your superiors complaining about any spent petrol.’ He opened the door wider with a flourish. ‘Besides, I’ve got a telephone here, I take work calls here sometimes.’</p><p> </p><p>And there went his excuse.</p><p> </p><p>Refusal was impossible, but Ludo didn’t really make room for Morse to enter. He shuffled awkwardly between him and the doorframe, but a warm hand on his chest stopped him.</p><p>‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Ludo said softly, nearly in his ear as he stepped past, ‘I must just fetch those shirts and jackets first. Yes? I’ll also ask dear <em> signora </em> how long she shall take.’</p><p>Meeting his eyes was hard. Morse wished that his pulse wouldn’t have picked up any more speed, and nodded politely. ‘Of course.’</p><p>‘Do make yourself at home in the meantime.’</p><p>‘I will.’</p><p>‘I won’t be long, it’s just around the corner… Oh! There should be some coffee on the side table, still hot I hope. Do help yourself.’</p><p>‘Right.’</p><p>Ludo smiled and nodded, gave his arm a pat, left the door open and disappeared again.</p><p> </p><p>Morse had a moment to himself, to catch his breath, and it was really the first one since he’d arrived.</p><p>And that’s how he ended up sitting awkwardly on another pricy designer couch. The coffee was too strong and too cold to drink without a grimace, but the little cup gave him something to turn in his hands while waiting. He wasn’t one for Italian coffee anyway, really. Too strong.</p><p>The drawing room followed the general eclectic look of the house, if a bit less clinical and sleek. The hardwood floor was dark and the walls papered and panelled up in warm earthy tones fitting of a bigger country house too. The large desk and armchairs dominating the space were honey-gold suede and pine. Not a traditional choice, maybe, but clearly antique. It was nice. It didn’t look quite as much like it had been specifically designed for a magazine. </p><p>There was a fireplace but it didn't seem much used. (Well, it was late spring.) On the mantelpiece sat a few framed photographs of children and holidays, and what looked like tourist souvenirs. There was an ashtray shaped like Dutch clogs, a little Eiffel tower, a few colourful stones and the like. They stood out quite starkly against the backdrop of an equestrian scene either by or after Stubbs. He almost wanted to ask about them.</p><p>The few dark juice stains and little scuffed-up shoe prints on the sofa made Morse smile too. Despite the more careful and classic decor of the office-made-sitting room, it didn’t seem to be entirely out of bounds for the little ones. </p><p> </p><p>Yet again the thought turned bittersweet and muddied by his presence in the home.</p><p> </p><p>‘Morse, which one do you prefer?’ Ludo’s voice returned before his person. Morse perked up.</p><p>He came through the open door, working in the cufflinks of a yet untied smock-front shirt, with two coat hangers under his arm. He lifted his eyebrows and showed both of the jackets to Morse.</p><p>‘That’s velvet?’ he asked.</p><p>‘Yes. The other one is just your common suit silk.’ He tilted his head. ‘Now please, be honest.’</p><p>Morse wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t think much of his formal suits other than that they somewhat fit him. </p><p>‘Isn’t black velvet more of a winter option…?’ As if he knew the first thing about fashion in the first place.</p><p>Ludo’s lips twitched. ‘Oh, yes, it would be very unconventional. You must be right.’ </p><p>‘Well, I don’t know which one you prefer-’</p><p>‘No, no, don’t.’ Ludo laughed and shook his head. He sighed dramatically and hung the velvet jacket on a drawer handle. ‘I know when to admit my defeat. Violetta said the same as you yesterday already. I had only hoped you’d give me an excuse to prove her wrong, but I ended up outnumbered.’ </p><p>‘I’m sorry,’ Morse offered with half a laugh of his own.</p><p>‘For my sake? Don’t be, my friend, I’ll recover still.’ Ludo held back a grin just long enough to nod solemnly. ‘At least you saved her from my blame!’</p><p>There were much greater things Morse feared Ludo would blame her for. Nothing he wouldn’t get his share of, either. </p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, and look, there it is,’ Ludo said over his shoulder on his way to a mirror in the corner. Morse followed his eyes to a faded but otherwise neat tapestry of maroon and teal. It was draped over two little chairs. Curiosity got the better of him, and he took half a step closer as Ludo started to knot his bowtie. </p><p>The peacock wasn’t a graceful swan-like sort like he’d expected. It rather looked about to bite your head off, but the style was delicate.</p><p>‘Interesting… Edwardian, maybe?’</p><p>‘Jugend, yes, something like that. Hideous, isn’t it? Will I even sell it, or must I hang it up in here…?’</p><p>Morse suppressed a smile. He wouldn't have bought one. ‘Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I’m sure.’ </p><p>‘Yes.’ Ludo laughed. ‘Yes, must be. Someone will still enjoy looking at him, even if there were prettier options available.’</p><p>‘Such as?’</p><p>‘Call me boring, but I prefer landscapes and architecture. The boring, romantic sort. And the sea, oh, I’d kill for an Aivazovsky… We’ve had many a married argument over where to put those.’ Ludo snorted and walked over. ‘You should hear Violetta when she’s growing frustrated with me.’</p><p>Morse couldn’t imagine Violetta screaming in anger, but he could still feel her tight grip on his arm and her steely eyes boring holes through his skull. No doubt she had to have a way with words too.</p><p>‘I’m sure she can stand her ground…’</p><p>‘Oh, she certainly can!’ Ludo lowered his voice and put on a conspiratorial tone. ‘I’m a bit ashamed to admit it in company, but truly, it must be clear to you already. That I’m… how do you say, getting the whip from her? And in my own house too.’</p><p>Morse twisted his face not to laugh or grimace, a very unwelcome and surprising image flitting across his thoughts. ‘Not quite that.’</p><p>‘Close enough, surely? How does it… get pussy-whipped <em> by her?’ </em></p><p>‘Yes, I… no! Uhm…’ He drew in a deep breath. <em> Jesus. </em></p><p>‘Is th- Oh, but you’re getting very red, Morse,’ Ludo marveled. Then he caught on. ‘Ah, did it sound so dirty? I’m so very sorry. I didn’t intend that, heavens, you should have said something and stopped me on time!’</p><p>Morse cleared his throat and fought the hot flush on his face. ‘In time. It’s, err, I think… <em>henpecked</em> might be… what people use here. English people.’ </p><p>The more he stuttered, the wider Ludo's grin grew. ‘Of course! Yes, I’ve heard that one.’ Judging by his laugh he didn’t plan on using it, though.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment Morse couldn’t do much else but stare at the ceiling and blink against the laughter and flustered feeling washing through him. Ludo finished tying his bowtie, grinning to himself, but kept fixing his shirt to give Morse some room to pull himself together.</p><p>He’d been on much wilder house calls, it wasn’t like this was anything so unusual. It was an eccentric town. Linguistic jokes were nothing new. Where on earth were his nerves and manners, then?</p><p>‘Will you be all right?’</p><p>‘Yes, sorry.’ Morse drew in a deep breath and grimaced. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’</p><p>‘That’s okay, my friend.’ Ludo’s smile took on a smug edge. ‘I should know my wife has that effect on strangers. You approve of her?’</p><p>Morse swallowed. He nodded. ‘I think you’re a very lucky man to have her.’</p><p>‘Yes.’ Ludo’s eyes grew distant for a breath, and for the first time since his arrival the smile truly faded. ‘She would be a blessing if I believed in those. A stroke of luck, certainly. Not to play down how much I love our sons and daughters, but Violetta is my treasure. The most precious thing I could own.’</p><p>‘How long have you two been married? If you don’t mind,’ Morse asked. He rubbed the back of his neck, dreading the answer a bit.</p><p>Ludo was taken aback. His eyes wandered off again.</p><p>‘Oh, it must be… Berto will be thirteen in the autumn, so… Fourteen years.’ He looked up at Morse. ‘Fifteen next year.’</p><p>‘Oh, really?’ It was louder than he’d intended. Logically it made sense, the eldest boy was more or less a young teenager, but… ‘I- congratulations. That’s quite the number.’ </p><p>Hed ruined their whole <em> life. </em></p><p> </p><p>Something shifted across Ludo’s expression. If he’d seemed capable of such, it could’ve been an embarrassed look. ‘You’re making the calculations in your head now, Morse, I can see it.’ </p><p>‘No…’ Morse wanted to leave. He had no right to stay under Ludo’s roof, he wasn’t a guest or a friend. He was a horrible parasite of some kind.</p><p>‘Oh, I might as well tell it as it is,’ Ludo kept going. He sighed and shrugged on the silk jacket. ‘We were… very young. I had just started my studies, you see. I was supposed to study in Dijon, at first, become an artist myself. Her father was an academic, we met after one of his guest lectures. And then we met again, and again, and she liked dancing, and I took her dancing… And, well, that’s how it goes.’ </p><p>How it goes?</p><p>Ludo read the question on his face, and narrowed his eyes with a somewhat hopeless look. The lewd gesture he made was slow and clear enough for some educational programme. ‘We had a bit of fun, made love, and made Roberto as well.’</p><p>Morse cleared his throat and shifted his weight. Jesus. He was being a right idiot. ‘Oh no, no. Sorry, I’m being so nosy. Force of habit.’ </p><p>‘No, but it’s been years. You couldn’t have known,’ Ludo said gently. </p><p>Morse twisted his lips. He <em> should’ve </em> remembered an event like that, though - for an event it would’ve been, a fresh foreign undergrad student of the arts with a pregnant bride in tow.  Surely it would’ve come up, with him and… Well, he should’ve known. </p><p>Morse pulled at his ear. ‘So when you arrived in Oxford…?’</p><p>‘I had proposed already, and married her as soon as I could, of course, I was in love. But the wedding was in Milan like her father’s tenure, she didn’t move here permanently at the time.’ Ludo tilted his head with a dry roll of his eyes. ‘Well, I say Milan, I mean Verona. I promise you, no family feuds.’</p><p>Morse couldn’t quite laugh. ‘She lived with her father still?’</p><p>‘Yes, of course. And I was there as well whenever I could.’</p><p>‘Oh, you weren’t up all year? At Beaufort?’</p><p>‘No. I suppose that’s why you didn’t recognise me either. And, um…’ He gestured vaguely at his face, the beard perhaps. </p><p>‘Right.’</p><p>‘It was a lot of travelling, for me. Especially after Berto was born. And then, unfortunately, with her father’s passing, another hurdle.’</p><p>‘Yes, I believe-’ Morse managed to cut himself off just before <em> ‘she told me about him’. </em> If Ludo noticed his stumbling, he didn’t mention it.</p><p>‘Mm. A terrible business. But yes, um. I did abandon Dijon and came to Oxford, and… I gave up the easel for trade and banking and investment and art <em> history. </em> Something more secure to take reins of the old family business.’</p><p> </p><p>Finally Ludo looked around with a lighter sort of smile. ‘And I bought a house for her and the children. Sure, it’s no palace or manor, but it’s what we have.’</p><p>Might as well have been. ‘It’s a lovely house.’ </p><p>‘Anything to make sure she would have a good life. One that she can enjoy.’</p><p>Morse smiled tightly, trying for an encouraging look. ‘It seems to me that she has one.’ Except for the affair with him.</p><p>‘Thank you. I really do appreciate that.’ Ludo nodded sincerely. Morse turned his face away to study the tapestry again. ‘As I said, she’s my everything.’</p><p>Say something. Morse stared at the peacock’s blazing eyes. Say something,<em> say something, say something- </em></p><p>‘She’s lucky, too, to have you. You’re… you’re both very lucky.’</p><p>‘Ups and downs, it’s a toss,’ Ludo said. ‘But yes, lately the fortune has favoured me. Speaking of which, our lady must still take a while. Did you have any of the coffee, or should we sit down for a cup while we wait?’</p><p>‘I’ll have one if you’re having. It was cooled down a bit, though.’</p><p>Ludo smiled and took the cup from him with a warm hand. ‘We’ll make a new brew.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this was such a pain to edit - every time i thought i was gonna get him to shut up he came up with a new weird string of words. but that's what he's here for, isn't he?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. sons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ludo <i>"i love gaslighting my bothersome eldest accident of a son when he questions things, it's my favourite hobby"</i> talenti and e. <i>"i still hold a grudge against my father for leaving mum for another woman while i'm sat here dreaming about banging a married lady in her house myself"</i> morse talk parenting, and all that it entails in their situation.</p><p>yes, this is still a light-hearted crack au.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">(<b>tw:</b> one off-handed jab in dialogue on hitting children in punishment, for period and character accuracy's sake)</span>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morse, now feeling rather more nervous through the power of a good Italian double espresso, forced down his throat too quickly, sat in silence and bounced his heel on the floor. Ludo had tried to ask him more about music - what kind did he enjoy best, was it Italian opera, or perhaps French (<em>please don’t say French, I might have to get angry with you if you do, </em> and a laugh), or if he enjoyed popular music also - but Morse was unable to reply. Well, he did shake his head and smile tightly a couple of times. But that was all he was capable of.</p><p>‘Are you quite all right?’ Ludo asked from his armchair. Morse looked up to meet his politely concerned eyes and tilted head. Hed lounged back comfortably without a worry in the world. Morse nodded firmly.</p><p>‘Yes. Yes, I’m…’ He was <em> fine. </em></p><p>Ludo didn’t look like he bought the reassurance, but nodded and stood up. ‘I’ll go check if Violetta is done soon. Do not worry, she’s very punctual. We will make it on time.’</p><p>‘Oh, no, that isn’t what I was thinking about. Just… work.’</p><p>‘Right.’ Ludo nodded in sympathy, clearly not believing that one either. He walked up to pat Morse gently on the shoulder. ‘Anyway, I shall go see how she’s doing. I’m back sooner than you think.’</p><p> </p><p>Morse grimaced to himself when he was left alone again. He didn’t even get to use the holiday photographs as a distraction before Ludo noticed something was off. <em> Shit.  </em></p><p>On the bright side, at least he hadn’t shattered the coffee cup by accident. Or spilled coffee on the expensive tapestry or carpet. Or Ludo’s dear jackets. Could have been worse.</p><p> </p><p>Footsteps forced him out of his thoughts after a while, and he forced a friendly smile on his lips. When the drawing room door slammed open once again, it wasn’t the father but the son - looking like he’d arrived from downstairs in quite a rush. Morse sat up in surprise. The boy stared at him in a similarly puzzled manner, thick black hair brushing his ears and stern dark eyebrows, his too-big nose and coltish face flushed from running up the long flight of stairs. Or maybe there was another route up, some old servants’ way around.</p><p>For a minute neither said anything.</p><p>‘Are you looking for your father?’ Morse asked.</p><p>‘Yeah,’ he said.</p><p>‘Roberto, was it?’</p><p>‘Yeah.’</p><p>‘Right. Well, my pleasure. Name was Morse if you didn’t catch it. Um… Ludo went to help your mother with getting ready.’</p><p>‘Mhm.’ </p><p>‘Is everything all right downstairs?’ Morse asked, suddenly a bit worried. ‘With your siblings?’</p><p>‘Yeah,’ Berto said again. He seemed to be a young man of very few words, unlike his father, but Morse had a feeling that the boy was studying him very sharply with his big, unreadable eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, and badly so, but knew better than to mouth off at guests.</p><p>‘Is it anything that I can help you with?’ Morse asked and gave the boy a look he hoped was friendly but not too embarrassing. It was always a bit tricky to balance the line between kind and <em> too </em> condescending with children his age. ‘And the… college girl? Who came to watch the house - with you - for the evening, she doing all right?’ </p><p>‘It’s fine. Linda knows the house already. Only something… just wanted to ask him,’ Berto said quietly but firmly. He had a bit of an accent, maybe adding to his reserved speech, but nothing too noticeable.</p><p>The eldest son. Twelve. Thinking back on that age wasn’t a joy, but Morse was sure he’d thought himself quite the weathered wreck already. No use to push, then.</p><p>‘All right.’ He nodded. ‘Well, your father said he’d be back in a minute.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Why are you here?’ Berto asked out of the blue, simple as that, without any change in his tone or face.</p><p>Morse blinked. He cleared his throat. ‘Ludo invited me to wait so we’d go to the concert together, your parents and I. We’re old friends.’</p><p>‘From Oxford?’ The boy narrowed his eyes.</p><p>‘Yes…?’</p><p>‘No,’ Berto said, simple as that. A steady look, the slightest twist of his mouth, and a quiet chilling tone. ‘That’s not why you’re here. My <em> mother </em> knows you.’</p><p>‘Your mother…’ </p><p>The resemblance to Violetta was suddenly striking, even if Roberto looked like he’d grow up to have a set of shoulders quite a bit wider one day. There was no trace of the busy hands and big grin and constant shifting that Ludo seemed to be made of. Just a pair of big, cold eyes and a determined stillness.</p><p>He <em> knew, </em> Morse realised suddenly.</p><p>Somehow the son knew - or had worked it out just now - that Morse was not just an old friend of his fathers. That he was something else. Something worse. Berto was staring at him like you would a tadpole in a jar, disgusted and fascinated, and unable to say if it was a fish or an animal - nor what would become of it in a few days’ time.</p><p> </p><p>To be twelve was a bad time, all things considered. The worst thing was that Morse recognised some of that bad <em> exactly </em> as it must’ve been for the boy who was staring him down, right there and then.</p><p> </p><p>‘Roberto, what have I told you about bothering my guests?’ </p><p>Morse and Berto both nearly jumped out of their skin. Ludo was there, suddenly and silently with no warning, a hand on the door frame as he looked down at his son. His expression was colder than Morse could’ve imagined on his cheerful features.</p><p>The reply was in rapid Italian, likely half nervous apologies and half insisting that he hadn’t been bothering anyone anyway.</p><p>‘He really wasn’t any trouble,’ Morse rushed in to add. </p><p>‘Talking absolute nonsense again, was he?’ </p><p>‘Just looking for you. Your son is very polite, I don’t mind.’ Wasn’t that polite, honestly, but neither was Morse - and much less when he’d been that age. </p><p>Besides, when the smile was gone it turned out that something in Ludo’s mellow voice turned very unsettling, very much <em> not </em> mellow. It was clear Berto thought so too. He hadn’t turned to face his father once, just stared wide-eyed at Morse’s shoes instead.</p><p>‘Right.’ Ludo sighed and looked over his son’s head to Morse, a tired roll of his eyes like it was a normal occurrence. ‘What was it you needed?’</p><p>‘Nothing,’ Berto said.</p><p>‘Nothing? So you’ve been bothering poor Morse for nothing, then?’</p><p>‘No!’ Bertos face gained back the earlier driven look, but his shoulders were up to his ears. ‘I just wanted to know how long you’re going to be out, <em> tu e mamma stasera, </em> if there’s maybe time for me <em> e </em> Lizza <em> e </em> Via to go to town later when you’re back home and see a film with-’</p><p>‘Berto.’ Ludo laid a hand on his shoulder and crouched down to meet his eyes. ‘Please, calm down.’ </p><p>‘Mhm.’</p><p>‘No. I’m sorry. I think I’ll take your mother out for dinner, later, we’ll be back quite late.’</p><p>‘Okay.’</p><p>‘You can check the paper, there might be a film on the telly tonight.’</p><p>‘Okay.’</p><p>‘Don’t watch anything violent with your sisters, they’ll get upset.’ The familiar, amused smile crept back, but didn’t affect Berto much. He’d gone quiet again.</p><p>‘Okay.’</p><p>‘Is that all?’ Ludo asked. Berto nodded firmly and got a fatherly pat and ruffle on his head for it. ‘Excellent. Now please, try to be good for the rest of the evening, all right? Take care of your siblings. Off you go, young man. And <em> please </em>stop pestering Morse.’</p><p>Berto nodded with a little smile and slinked off.</p><p> </p><p>‘You let them go to the cinema <em> once </em> on their own, and now it’s all he asks to do every weekend.’ Ludo let out a long sigh. Morse woke up as if from a trance - and not a relaxing sort.</p><p>‘Oh, but don’t let him get in trouble for it for my sake. He’s all right. It really wasn’t anything.’ He pulled at his ear under Ludo’s sharp eyes, even though there was a hint of a smile again. ‘Just curious as to why I was here.’</p><p>The smile grew wider. ‘And what did you say?’ </p><p>‘That I’m a family friend.’</p><p>‘Ah. Well, that would’ve done it.’ Ludo laughed. ‘He’s truly a sharp, clever boy. Keeps track of people better than anyone I know. But that makes him… confused, sometimes. He hasn’t met <em> you </em> when it’s been so long so now he must be awfully suspicious of who you are and why he didn’t know about you. I should’ve taken him aside for that.’</p><p>‘I mean… boys,’ Morse tried, but didn’t know what he was trying to say. It wasn’t like every kid had to come up to him with an accusatory glare for sleeping with a married mother. </p><p>‘Should get some sense beaten into him but Violetta doesn’t let me… Sorry, I seem awfully cross with him,’ Ludo said and shut his eyes tightly, as if to shut the disappointment out. At least he seemed unaware still of why his son and wife had both given Morse threatening glares. ‘That must’ve been awkward to witness. He just has a bit of a habit of telling tales, unfortunately.’</p><p>‘Tales?’ </p><p>‘Fancies himself an author in the future, perhaps,’ Ludo replied without answering, and flashed him another warm smile.</p><p>‘Right…’</p><p> </p><p>An ugly thought reared its head, and it reassured Morse thus: if Ludo thought <em> so little </em> of the word of his eldest - and if he had such a silencing effect on the boy - then at least it wouldn‘t be <em> Berto </em> <em> Talenti</em> who convinced his father of something between Violetta and Morse himself. All Morse had to do was survive the night, and vow to never come to their house and never meet either Talenti <em> ever </em> again. </p><p>And then everything was all right.</p><p>He felt terrible for it, but he couldn’t shove the thought away when it was the only straw he had left.</p><p>‘Anyway.’ Ludo clapped his hands together. ‘You must be ready to go, yes? Violetta is picking her earrings now, I believe, good as done.’</p><p>‘Yes, sure.’ Morse got up quickly, and this time he joined Ludo’s brisk pace gladly as he led him downstairs. Better to get out of the house as soon as possible, and avoid more uncomfortable silences with the children. He’d be out of their hair soon.</p><p> </p><p>Ludo leaned casually on the railing, checked his watch, and squinted at the afternoon sun flooding in through the massive windows of the entrance. Morse couldn’t fight the urge to join him in looking around again. It really was a grand, lovely old house.</p><p>‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked, despite his resolution to put it firmly behind him just moments ago.</p><p>‘In this house?’ Ludo asked. The firm tone he’d used with Berto was good as gone. ‘Maybe five years or so. We did spend some time in Switzerland at one point, so Berto and the twins know a bit of German. He sometimes even speaks English like a Swiss boy. Truly, that’s what the tutor is for. All right for myself to mix things up every now and then, but he’s in school, and he gets so frustrated with it sometimes… We had to fetch him home from a nice boarding place just this last winter. Grammar, all that.’</p><p>‘Must be tricky.’ Morse nodded. ‘I only know a little German and Russian. Well, a couple of words in Italian.’</p><p>‘You do?’ Ludo asked, clearly delighted. ‘Have you been to Italy?’</p><p>‘Yes,’ he said, before realising his mistake and feeling blood flee from his skin. ‘I mean… uh… just once.’</p><p>‘Where?’</p><p>‘Rome,’ he lied. ‘Last year.’ It was technically true.</p><p>‘Ah, of course. Tourist.’ Ludo laughed. ‘Oh, well.’ </p><p>‘Well, not all of us move into a big house in the country the moment we’re abroad.’ Morse looked around and made Ludo grin.</p><p>‘True. The father’s side of my family hails from Rome, actually. I suppose I should feel some hometown pride. But I never enjoyed it there. So busy.’ He shrugged, cocking his head. ‘It’s different in a place like this. Quieter. Much better. The youngest three have lived in this home all their lives.’ It was slightly bragging again, but Morse nodded anyway. </p><p>‘Can’t imagine what that’d be like… More room to run than where I grew up.’</p><p>‘Ah, scholarship. Yes. Sorry, I didn’t even consider.’ It was almost sheepish, but Morse didn’t quite believe in the feeling. </p><p>‘It’s all right.’ It was long since he had felt any real shame about the fact, and if that was what Ludo was after, he’d have to try harder. ‘A door that opened and closed. Like Dijon?’</p><p>‘Like Dijon.’ Ludo bowed his head and smiled in amused surrender. ‘But you should see the garden. I don’t regret a thing,’ he added, looking extremely satisfied in himself.</p><p> </p><p>‘Is the car running already, or just your mouth, Ludo?’ Violetta asked calmly, walking down the stairs to join them. Ludo turned his head to her like a lazy cat, smiling like one too. Morse didn’t want to admit to <em> ogling, </em> but he was closer to it than anyone should’ve been in the presence of a woman’s husband.</p><p>‘Not yet. We were waiting for you.’</p><p>Violetta looked… divine. It was the only word he came up with. She very much didn’t look like a mother of seven, an Oxford housewife, an anxious adulterer. With a soft half-smile playing on her red lips and dark hair tumbling down her shoulder in thick, shiny waves, she looked like a princess from a poem. Just like in Venice. The gown was slim and shimmering, a patterned turquoise and gold silk satin that hugged her waist and fanned out around her ankles. Her eyes twinkled, and her earrings, necklace and bracelet shone like small crescent moons.</p><p>‘How do I look?’ she asked Morse, pinning him down on the spot.</p><p>‘Beautiful as the sun, my darling,’ Ludo answered for him, and it was good that he did. Morse would’ve made a fool of himself otherwise.</p><p>A quick look confirmed that Ludo knew it too, but he seemed to find it <em> funny </em> rather than anything else.</p><p> </p><p>And then he was ushered out and into a car, a real black beauty bought absolutely for show and <em> not </em> for transporting a family bigger than the musical ensemble they were about to hear. He sat on the back seat, expensive leather and lots of leg-room, but protested in surprise when Violetta joined him. She tossed her bag on the front seat just as Ludo threw his now-empty sunglasses’ case on it as well. He sat behind the wheel.</p><p>‘Everyone comfortable there?’ he asked and pulled the sunglasses down his nose, peering around his seat.</p><p>‘Yes,’ Violetta said, smiling.</p><p>Morse stared between the both of them, dumbstruck, and nodded slowly.</p><p>‘Great!’ Ludo grinned, and seemed to settle into the role of their chauffeur with not a small amount of imaginative glee. He tilted the mirror briefly to give him a final look. ‘Keep your hands off my wife, Morse, while I can’t see you, and then we’ll stay good friends still.’</p><p>Even Violetta laughed at that, her icy demeanor from earlier thawing altogether.</p><p><br/>Not for the first time that day, Morse wondered what on earth was going on. Violetta’s quick look and a careful <em> shush </em> gesture didn’t make it any clearer to him, nor the embellished story about one of the men organising the event that Ludo launched into, as if he hadn’t seen it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it wasn't so bad. but he's gonna be screwed.<br/><span class="small">(in more ways than one?)</span></p><p>this is not gonna be a four-chapter thing anymore, that much is sure - also, wanna bet on when i'll run out of fitting words starting with 'S' for chapter titles?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. sound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>finally we get to see snobbish people snobbing around. isn't that what you're into classical music for, Morse?<br/>also, speaking and soundness of character and all that.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">disclaimer: The author does not share Morse's prescriptive attitude to linguistics. Also please don't think that I'm Actually some music snob. I know nothing except that *I think* Dvorák *sounds* good and thats also as much as I care. (But I did plan a whole themed concert event, yes, thanks for asking...)</span>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite the way Morse’s whole world had turned on its head in a matter of hours, the day was still beautiful; nothing had changed in that regard. Ludo spoke of the people he knew, and the car - it was a very nice sporty Bentley, really, Morse couldn’t deny that even as Ludo called the police Jag ‘quite stylish’ as well. The closer they got to town, the more his thinking aloud turned to the roads or the afternoon traffic, either amused or cursing under his breath in several different languages.</p><p>Violetta kept smiling gracefully. Every now and then her knee brushed Morse’s, as if a tight swerve on Oxford’s painfully one-way streets made her lean in on the seat. Morse shot her a sharp look once when it got a little too obvious. Was she trying to get her husband upset with him on purpose? Was it some sort of payback for Morse’s appearance in their life? He got no answer for the questions he couldn’t ask aloud because she pretended not to see his looks at all. Just took out a hand mirror to check her make-up or gave unhelpful driving instructions to her husband.</p><p>‘Ludo, I don’t think we’ll find a spot closer than this,’ she said calmly at some point, when Ludo drove them back on the Broad for the third time.</p><p>‘I can try,’ he snapped.</p><p>‘You’re just showing off the car. Again.’</p><p>‘Am not,’ Ludo said, but Morse caught his grin in the mirror. </p><p>A spot a few college corners north of where they were supposed to be seemed to satisfy him anyway, and the walk to Beaufort Gardens (small as such a central quad was in reality) was uneventful. Apart from the growing tension in Morse’s shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>They didn’t need to show any tickets or invitations at all, just the name Talenti was enough to get them in. Even Morse. They were directed to a nice outdoor seating area and a pay-per-drink buffet table, and then Ludo waltzed off. He wanted to make their introductions to whoever he spotted on the other side of the gardens, and Morse was left stood with Violetta in awkward silence. She held her clutch in front of her, he shoved his hands in his pockets, and they both did their best to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. She was much better at it.</p><p> </p><p>‘Why did you ask me to come with you?’</p><p>‘I didn’t. Ludo did.’</p><p>‘You could have said no.’</p><p>‘Could I?’ She gave him a quick, miffed look, and a dry sort of irony seeped through. It reminded Morse of cold Venetian morning light. ‘Oh, my love, this old friend of yours I’ve never met - I won’t sit with him. No reason. But, let’s cancel the whole event, actually, the one we’ve planned for months now. I don’t feel like it anymore. Maybe tell him to sod off too, while y-’</p><p>‘All right!’ Morse whispered and looked over his shoulder to Ludo, still in the middle of an animated conversation. ‘But you could’ve at least… not left me alone with him for an hour.’</p><p>‘Two grown men. Should hope you could manage without another babysitter while I was doing my hair.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m growing tired of the way you’re both behaving. Let’s go find us some good seats…’ </p><p>Morse stopped her gently with a hand on her arm and met her eyes. ‘Your son.’ </p><p>‘Roberto?’ Her look was sharp. ‘What about him?’</p><p>‘He knows.’ <em> About us, </em> he left unsaid.</p><p>Violetta met his stare blankly. ‘Well, of course he does. He isn’t stupid.’</p><p>Morse widened his eyes. ‘And you…? You’re <em> all right </em> with that?’</p><p>‘No,’ she whispered firmly, ‘But I don’t doubt his intelligence. He knew that there was someone, just not that it was you.’ It was a strange warped echo of Ludo’s earlier words regarding the boy. Then her eyes wandered off and she clutched her handbag tighter, an uncomfortable twist to her lips. ‘I didn’t yet have the time to pull him aside and explain.’</p><p><em> ‘Explain?’ </em> Morse hissed under his breath. ‘No! There’s nothing to explain, after this concert I’ll be gone from your lives for-’</p><p>‘Shush.’</p><p> </p><p>Ludo strode back to them with a wide grin and a spring in his step, and Morse pulled back, ears hot and hands clammy. He let out a long huff and squeezed his eyes shut. <em> Get it together. Calm down. </em></p><p>‘What’s with him?’ Ludo asked.</p><p>‘We were talking about the seating,’ Violetta lied warmly. She gave Morse a look that melted from polite to pleading, begging him to play along. </p><p>‘Yeah,’ he agreed, like an idiot. She smiled.</p><p>‘I suggested that he would sit between us. You two could catch up and talk music together, and I could hear it too. But he said he doesn’t want to be a nuisance.’</p><p>‘Oh, Morse.’ Ludo laughed and gave his arm a soft thwack. ‘You’re being modest to a fault, we like having you here! Her idea sounds excellent.’ </p><p>Morse mustered up a smile and a shrug. Not like he had any other choice. </p><p>‘Come on, let me introduce you to some people.’ Ludo beckoned him to join and gave Violetta his arm. ‘Albie brought his new bride along, darling, you’ll have someone to talk to if Morse starts boring you.’</p><p>Violetta said nothing but smiled at Ludo, and gave Morse a look that was probably something she used on misbehaving children.</p><p>‘Also - I’m sorry - Albie has got a jacket with,’ Ludo laughed under his breath, ‘you won’t believe, <em> velvet lapels </em> on it. Mm. Isn’t it funny how I was told by <em> two people </em> how velvet would look silly and out of season.’</p><p>‘You poor thing,’ Violetta whispered, squeezing his arm tighter.</p><p> </p><p>There were some chats, toasts - Morse really had to fight for his right to pay for his own drink - and other pre-concert humdrum to let the performing musicians make final adjustments. It was just as much, Morse supposed, to make the audience relaxed and kind. </p><p>He was feeling anything but. Like a cat on a hot roof. But he did his best to put on a friendly face and try to listen to introductions and stories. At the very least to look like he was listening for it might have been interesting on any other day, in any other company. </p><p>Or it might not. The Albie whom he got introduced to was a worse airhead than either of the Talentis in their worst moments, and truth to be told his poor bride wasn’t much better. Someone else joined their talks quickly, a tall, dark, thin gentleman, but even as a polar opposite, he wasn’t much better company. The man seemed to speak mostly to hear his own voice, and had just picked their group as his next lecture audience. He droned on about his groundbreaking discoveries in the field of language and class identity, or some such. Nothing new there, for Oxford. Violetta however looked very curious, and soon she asked to hear more about his research.</p><p> </p><p>Morse emptied his glass and let his eyes wander. They landed on Ludo, his hand still gently on Violetta’s back. But something had changed; somehow for all his charisma, Ludo managed to look almost as much a fish out of water as Morse felt, albeit in a different way. He didn’t look bored  per se, but his formerly bright and expressive face had hardened into something stony and devoid of emotion. Like he suddenly didn’t enjoy himself at all, like he <em> tried </em> to listen (unlike Morse, credit to him where it was due) but couldn’t quite catch on. He looked almost <em> too </em> focused for a garden gathering.</p><p>It took a while to point out why, but when Morse noticed it too, the scene puzzled him as well. </p><p>In addition to Mr Soho-Sociolinguist - Andrew, maybe - it was Violetta alone who did the talking. In her own modestly soft-spoken way, she was slowly taking more and more of the stage in their little impromptu conference. She was acting as much the part of a cosy young college don as one could while looking like her, and drifted off from Ludo’s side to greet a third debater on the topic. Ludo didn’t try to stop her.</p><p>It was captivating to watch. It wasn’t just that she was stunning and well-articulated, but she seemed confident in an unshakeable way one could only be if raised that way. She was glowing a cool, sparkling sort of shine, like a bright chandelier.</p><p> </p><p>Ludo finished his drink.</p><p>‘Was this her father’s research subject?’ Morse asked him in a low voice. ‘You said he lectured in languages.’</p><p>‘Must have been,’ Ludo said without moving his expression an inch.</p><p>‘She’s really in her element.’</p><p>‘She is.’</p><p>‘Did she ever try for the colleges? I know you’ve got the… family, but I think she would’ve excelled in the subject.’</p><p>‘No,’ Ludo said. His words were uncharacteristically flat and few. </p><p>‘Did she study further in Milan?’ Morse tried.</p><p>‘I don’t know.’</p><p>Morse looked at him at length. <em> Didn’t know? </em> Ludo didn’t offer an explanation, only watched his wife closely with a furrowed brow. </p><p>Violetta was still interviewing Andrew on his upcoming article. In exchange, he asked her about the dialects of Italy and France and whether they followed a similar triangular model of distance as his British studies showed. She said that she was no expert, but that she was certainly intrigued by the models Andrew and his research partner had developed to ground his theory. </p><p>Most of it went over Morse’s head as well. His school teachers had always stressed the importance of <em> proper </em> language, and had he thrown that to the wayside in favour of how people in Lincolnshire spoke, he wouldn’t have got half as far as he had in his unfortunate college career. It seemed a very niche, fringe topic to focus one’s whole research on, the grammatical features of what was essentially just poor grammar. But clearly, to each their own.</p><p> </p><p>‘She seems to enjoy this,’ Morse said. </p><p>‘Do you think me blind?’ Ludo asked, and finally broke out of his frozen state, slipping back into his normal fluidity. Like he’d turned on a switch or turned a key that made him move again. ‘Of course she does. What’s it to you, anyway, what my wife enjoys or not?’ </p><p>‘To me? No, nothing- I-’ </p><p>Ludo grinned sharply at Morse’s ensuing red-faced stammering. </p><p>‘Ludo,’ Violetta called suddenly. Then she asked something so quickly in Italian that the only words Morse caught were <em>Napoletano </em> and maybe Sicily - and a good thing that he did.</p><p>One single question changed Ludo’s whole posture, twisted and darkened his face again, made him lift his chin. His lips twisted like he'd swallowed something disgusting - his pride, most likely. And just as quickly he tried to hide the reaction under a polite smile. Violetta saw it anyway, and blinked hard at him, a wordless echo of her question.</p><p>‘Only a little bit, darling,’ Ludo replied calmly and in <em> very </em> neat English, his smile all teeth. ‘You know well that I only worked there for a short while. And they don’t use that language in proper society.’ Clearly he wished that she’d drop the whole topic, but Violetta didn’t care for the implication. She looked satisfied if anything.</p><p>‘Yes! There you hear it, Andrew. Embarrassed that I even asked.’</p><p>‘I’m not embarrassed,’ Ludo muttered under his breath.</p><p>Morse thought he was right on that one. Increasingly tense and jealous over his wife might’ve been a better assessment, annoyed and disturbed by the attention she was getting and the way he’d been made a sudden case study.</p><p>It wasn’t really a look that Morse fancied to be on the receiving end of.</p><p> </p><p>It was for the best that guests were instructed to take their seats by then. Ludo made sure to herd Violetta to the end of their row, not listening to her whispered questions whatsoever. He sat her down and planted Morse down next to her like a gargoyle meant to ward off anyone else trying their luck. It was the first Morse saw of the two that they seemed anything besides a hivemind.</p><p>Violetta whispered Ludo’s name past Morse, but couldn’t get her husband’s attention. Morse nudged his arm with his elbow to help her out, but Ludo just shushed him with a dismissive hand.</p><p>‘Your wife-’</p><p>‘Shh.’</p><p>Violetta shot her husband a stern look, but Ludo took his seat on Morse’s right with a sour look on his face and an unblinking stare ahead. And then the music started, filling the quad with sounds that weren’t meant to be disturbed.</p><p>Violetta leaned back with a sad little sigh. For a brief moment Morse thought that she was about to take his hand, but luckily her twitching fingers didn’t carry out the plan.</p><p> </p><p>It was a bit of a tight spot to sit in, figuratively. But music had helped Morse over worse quagmires many times before, and as soon as there was something to listen to, he found himself relaxing. He had been excited all week, all spring, for the chance to sit back and enjoy the concert, and he was determined to do so. And so he did.</p><p>It was an afternoon for romantic storytelling and dark fairy stories, all from a little grand tour across the whole of Central Europe. Even for such a small assembly without any vocals, the procession was well-planned. The calming notes of the first Peer Gynt suite were a bit on the nose that day, but served their purpose. A few movements from Mendelssohn’s <em> Midsummer Night </em> were a lead into Austria and Czechoslovakia, and <em> Erlkönig </em> was followed by a few of Dvorák’s string quartet motions.</p><p>Morse did his best to exist in an unnoticeable manner past the short event interlude. He didn’t quite succeed, but at least he didn’t think he annoyed either spouse further with his presence. Maybe. Ludo bought them all another round of drinks, but if it weren’t for Albie and his bride Rachel, it would’ve been very quiet until everyone returned to their seats and the music resumed, washing it all away again with the haunting introduction of <em>The Spectre’s Bride</em>. </p><p>Only when a rendition of <em> La Cura Per L’Amore </em> overture started, was Morse reminded again of who he was sitting between, listening to it all. For a moment he was in Venice again, before he’d slept with Violetta, and this time he knew it was a mistake.</p><p>And there he was, stuck sitting between the married couple, both deep in their own thoughts. At least the tension had melted away somewhat. Ludo leaned back in his seat, hands crossed in his lap, staring into space with fortunately more of a resting frown than an actively annoyed one. Violetta clutched her handbag tightly, eyes downcast or either watching the musicians closely, a little smile on her lips just to hear something from her favourite opera.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, a polite applause, and the audience exhaled again. A few final words by someone who spent a lot of time thanking the benefactors of the event - Ludo and Violetta included, though Ludo’s smile was definitely of the less modest ‘oh, it was no trouble at all, <em> please’ </em>variety.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ludo,’ Violetta whispered again, placed her hand firmly on Morses thigh, and leaned over him to grab Ludo’s hand. Ludo just let out a long sigh. </p><p>Morse eyed him warily before turning to Violetta with a whisper, ‘I think your comment-’</p><p>‘I know. His ego is bruised, you’re all the same.’ She brushed him off. ‘And don’t try to tell me you know him better than I do. You’re not his wife.’</p><p>‘I wasn’t-’</p><p>‘I’m sitting <em> right here,’ </em> Ludo hissed through gritted teeth. </p><p>‘Then, my love, would you look at me? I’ve got a question for you.’ Violetta laced her fingers together with his, and quite awkwardly it was all happening on Morse’s lap. He cleared his throat.</p><p>Finally Ludo broke his sulking and looked to Violetta so that he more or less leaned his shoulder on Morse’s.</p><p>‘Perhaps this was a bad arrangement, you were right after all,’ he whispered, breath tickling Morse’s ear. His cologne was quite strong but nicer than it had any right to be, something floral and leathery, and Morse didn’t know how to agree politely, so he didn’t. </p><p>‘Violetta, dear, what is it?’</p><p>‘Did you put a reservation in for tonight?’ At that, Ludo’s face finally brightened a little bit and he held Violetta’s hand tighter.</p><p>‘Of course I did! You know I would.’</p><p>‘Where?’</p><p>‘What do you mean where? The usual place. I thought you thought it pleasant?’</p><p>‘Sure, I do. I’m just thinking… They might be popular tonight.’</p><p>‘Popular? How so?’ Ludo narrowed his eyes, but luckily the rather real annoyance from earlier seemed to make room for something good-natured again.</p><p>‘Will there be a seat for the third?’ </p><p>
  <em> The third? </em>
</p><p>‘Ah, you’re thinking ahead once again, my darling! I didn’t even think about that. <span>Don’t worry, I’m sure that we’ll get it arranged if you want to.</span>’</p><p>Morse lifted his hands carefully above the Talentis’ fast hold on each other. ‘Sorry, think about what?’</p><p>‘Dinner, of course.’ Ludo gave him a look like he’d just asked if water was wet. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m famished after an afternoon outdoors like this. And I had to skip lunch too just to get everything in order… that might be it. All the same!’ </p><p>‘You must join us,’ Violetta said softly. Morse shook his head and smiled tightly. He’d been playing with fire for quite long enough, thank you very much.</p><p>‘Oh but I can head home, now.’</p><p>‘Nonsense, and your car is still at our place!’ Ludo waved him off. All earlier coldness had vanished from his tone and manner completely, and he laughed again like an old friend.</p><p>‘No- I really shouldn’t. I’ll just get on a bus…’</p><p>‘You can’t leave!’ Violetta gave her husband a demanding look and gripped his hand. ‘We can’t allow it, Ludo, can’t abandon a guest like that.’</p><p>‘Heavens, no. It’s on me, Morse, come on! The spot is delightful and not too far from here, you’ll love it.’</p><p> </p><p>Well. He really <em> couldn’t </em>leave.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you wanna get snobby too just as Morse is (i know it's supposed to be a string quartet in the episode but don't expect me to <i>arrange</i> the pieces for an imaginary garden concert too, i'm just making the list, and maybe they had like one extra person with a triangle too) here's a list that goes from fairytales to ghost stories, imo pretty fitting for a spring concert outdoors:</p><p>
  <span class="small"><a href="https://youtu.be/dyM2AnA96yE">Peer Gynt suite no 1</a> in parts by string quartets <a href="https://youtu.be/6WRmRxxWF8Y">here</a> and <a href="https://youtu.be/ebrzlulTNys">here</a>, Grieg (yes it's the morning meme song and the mountain king and all yes i know but i'm nordic we also had to know this in school stop laughing)</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="small"><a href="https://youtu.be/wIcImOYivDA">Overture from A Midsummer Night's Dream</a>, Mendelssohn (the whole thing alone is like an hour)</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="small"><a href="https://youtu.be/22aSClKgm7g">Erlkönig</a>, Schubert (arranged for strings for real i think - but the 'full' thing's a kind of a vocal ballad on top of that), </span>
  <br/>
  <span class="small"><a href="https://youtu.be/G_7IJb-xx-c">Introduction to The Spectre's Bride</a>, Dvorák (again, a pretty long choral/operatic thing in full actually but u know)</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="small">and then the itv fake opera that shares a lot of similarities with the one above that we all know and ? <i>hate???</i> did you guys all hate the corny opera part of the corny opera show?? i thought it was a lot of fun but then again fun's what i'm here for anyway.</span>
</p><p>i swear i didnt intend to write this chapter just around one concert but morse is a slut for those sweet sweet tunes so i couldn't well just speed past it all, could I, when this is from his perspective.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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